


May tomorrow never come

by AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Oral Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/pseuds/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst
Summary: Ylva and Blaeja seek comfort in each other.This takes place while Ivar is gone raiding, after he and Ylva had their fight about whether or not they should keep the baby.Due to recent conversations over on tumblr, I've been thinking a lot about Ylva's sexuality. And, honestly, if she and Ivar hadn't grown attached to each other so quickly Ylva would have been a lot more open to being attracted to others - regardless of gender. And so the idea for this oneshot was born. This is not canon, nor is it a healthy way to start a relationship. Ylva is not even close to being over Ivar and they are both already married.Please note that for all of my works that have sexual content, all relevant characters are at least 18 years old. If they are not yet 18 in canon, I age them up.





	May tomorrow never come

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keeping promises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490925) by [AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/pseuds/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst). 



Ylva props herself up on one elbow, watching as Blaeja combs out her hair. Every movement from the queen looks so controlled, so carefully planned.

“What is it like being married to Sigurd?” She has been meaning to ask that ever since Ivar left last week. The change in Blaeja’s behaviour is just enough to be noticeable. A tension in her shoulders, a tighter grip on the brush.

“He is kind to me.” She finally answers in the same soft-spoken voice as always. Ylva has to hold back a huff as she plops onto her back. Aellesdottír doesn’t know anything but being polite and to push down her own emotions, she has all the well-rehearsed manners and finesse that Ylva lacks.

“But…” The queen starts only for her voice to fade away. Ylva lifts her head again, putting on an encouraging smile as Blaeja sets the brush down and smooths the fabric of her nightgown.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that it was an arranged marriage.” Blaeja finally finishes while plucking at lint that isn’t there. She is right, of course. Sigurd doing the bare minimum by not treating his wife like a piece of meat is not enough. The sweet queen deserves the world, Ylva is certain of that. The blonde shuffles further in on the bed to give her friend space enough to climb in beside her. In their efforts of settling under the furs, they brush against each other like they do most every night. And Ylva can’t stop her thoughts. The queen is so much softer than Ivar, not only in her personality. Where he is all hard muscles and sharp lines, Blaeja is rounded; even plump in some places. Ylva abruptly turns on her side, facing away from the brunette and burrowing far under the covers.

“Thank you for staying with me.” She says once enough time has passed that Blaeja might already be asleep. Blaeja murmurs a response, saying that she would do anything for her friend.

 

*******

 

The second that the queen steps inside, Ylva bolts upright in bed. Something is wrong. Her head is bowed down and when she comes closer there is no missing how red her eyes are.

“What happened?” She takes Blaeja’s hands in her own, thinking yet again of how the queen’s hands aren't calloused from working in the smithy. How she would love to have those hands run along the scars on her back. The brunette sniffles, breaking Ylva from her inappropriate thoughts.

“I fought with Sigurd.” Ylva’s gaze drops to her lap. It shouldn’t sting so much every time she is reminded that Blaeja has a husband. They sit in silence, fingers intertwined. Eventually, Ylva finds her voice.

“I am so sorry.” Something that is halfway between a laugh and a sigh escapes from between Blaeja’s lips.

“There is nothing to be done about it now.” The queen kisses her cheek and by the time she retreats Ylva’s face feels oddly warm. _ She didn’t linger _ , Ylva tries to tell herself,  _ it was just in my head.  _ She says nothing when Blaeja settles right behind her under the covers. The kind woman is usually so careful to stay on the other side of the bed, leaving enough room for a third person to squeeze in between them but now one slim arm is resting just above Ylva’s growing bump. It amazes her how the simple touch takes her mind off the uncertainty that has become a part of everyday life. She wonders, for the hundredth time,  what would happen if the touches were to grow bolder. Ylva doesn’t allow herself time to hesitate, immediately pushing her hips back to meet the figure behind her. This time she is certain that Blaeja makes a noise.

“Forgive me,” Ylva blurts out “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Comes Blaeja’s voice “No, it is fine.” She even shuffles closer. Ylva’s head is spinning. Blaeja’s fingers have found one of Ylva’s curls, lazily playing with it. Ivar has probably already taken someone else, perhaps even had several others in his bed. So why shouldn’t she? Ylva isn’t even aware of the fact that she’s continued rubbing her ass against Blaeja’s front, not until the queen groans and grabs at her hips. They both still. Seconds pass as both of them wait for the other to break the tension, either by acting first or by saying they shouldn’t. Then Ylva turns. She threads her fingers through the queen’s hair and tugs gently. Blaeja responds as she hoped, by closing what little distance remains between them and melding their lips together. The first one is so brief that it could barely be called a kiss but it still has Ylva’s eyes rolling back into her head. Blaeja’s lashes flutter at the sound and there’s a red tint creeping up her cheeks. With the next one, Ylva takes the lead. She plunders Blaeja’s mouth as passionately as she has done in her dreams about the queen.

“Elsku dúllan mín,” Ylva rasps between kisses “My queen.” Blaeja seems incapable of any response other than a whimper. Their hands are urgent, fumbling as they tug at each others nightgowns until more skin is exposed than covered. They break apart and Ylva has just managed to pull the fabric over her head when Blaeja takes handfuls of her breasts, making her gasp and arch her back. There’s a flash of greed in the queen’s face and she pinches one nipple between her thumb and index finger, testing Ylva’s reaction. As endearing as it is to see the sweet girl explore what she can do Ylva quickly grows impatient. She stops the queen, flashing a smile to reassure Blaeja, then nods at the bunched up fabric.   

“Don’t be shy, ástin,” She coos “Let me see.” Blaeja blushes even deeper but she sits up just long enough to lift the nightgown over her head before lying down on her back. Just the sight of her nipples has Ylva salivating, longing to have a taste. The blonde lies down on her side and admires the queen’s smooth skin; unlike her own the only marks on it are small birthmarks scattered over her belly and shoulders. Finding one at Blaeja’s breast, she teases it with the tip of her tongue before sealing her lips to it and sucking. The other woman cries out and raises her hips of the mattress. As Ylva nips her way down Blaeja’s stomach the queen grows more and more vocal, her volume climbing while she writhes under the blonde. Ylva looks up long enough to find Blaeja’s hand and let their fingers interlace before dipping her head back down to mouth at the lush thighs. Each gasp and moan from the queen serves as encouragement and by the time Ylva finally dips her tongue into the slickness her entire being is swollen with pride. She is as new to this as Blaeja so she tries not to overthink it, copying her own likes and trusting that she will notice any potential discomfort from the queen. Nails scrape at her scalp as she kisses along the folds, making her hum contentedly. Ylva seeks out the sensitive bud and the moment she catches it between her lips Blaeja’s entire body jerks. She places her free hand at the queen’s waist and presses, signalling for her to try and stay still, and with the other she squeezes the soft fingers that are still intertwined with her own. Ylva feels the way the body under her begins to tense, groans when Blaeja’s thighs lock around her head. Soon after the queen cries out and thrusts against Ylva’s still working mouth. The blonde stays put, nuzzling at and spreading the slickness even further, until Blaeja goes slack. As soon as Ylva pulls herself up next to the brunette, trembling arms wrap around her.

“Mín se swétesta sunnan scíma.” Blaeja croaks against Ylva’s cheek before stealing a kiss. Ylva rakes her fingernails down the queen’s back, closing her eyes and taking a moment to catch her breath. Then a hand dips between her legs and she immediately locks eyes with Blaeja. The brunette is just barely brushing against the curls there. She’s worrying at her lip as if thinking of how to ask for help. Ylva cups the back of her neck and and brings her in for a sloppy kiss, one that has Blaeja clutching at Ylva’s thigh. Once they pull away, Ylva takes the brunette’s wrist in a gentle grip.

“Here.” She guides Blaeja’s digits to her mouth and, hearing how the queen’s breath hitches, lathers at them until they are wet all the way from the first knuckles to the tips then lies back as the queen pushes first one then two fingers inside. Ylva can only hold on to the furs, rocking her hips in tandem with the sweet queen’s movements while whispering praises. She doesn’t want to give too many instructions, is happy to simply see Blaeja explore these new sensations. It takes time and Ylva has to help with a finger on her clit but eventually she too stiffens, toes curling as she rides out her own pleasure. They don’t bother with putting their clothes back on, only pull the furs up their bodies until they don’t have to worry about being cold. Blaeja smiles at Ylva, eyes still dazed, and Ylva’s heart beats in a way that can’t possibly be normal. Granted, her experiences with love are limited to the familial kind and to Ivar but as the queen nuzzles at her shoulder she can’t help but think that this is what it is supposed to feel like. It doesn’t take long before Blaeja begins to snore with her head still resting at Ylva’s shoulder. Like most nights, Ylva is afraid of falling asleep. But this time it is because she knows that in the morning Blaeja will have to go to Sigurd and sit next to him as his queen.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS (found at How to romance a Viking and Bosworth-Toller Anglo-Saxon Dictionary)
> 
> Elsku dúllan mín - My dear sweetie  
> Ástin - Love/darling  
> Mín se swétesta sunnan scíma - My sweetest sunshine


End file.
